


Flight of The Griffin

by Yinspirit



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Reverse Big Bang 2015, Fluff, Gen, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 08:03:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5449337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yinspirit/pseuds/Yinspirit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sera was never one for stories. Too prissy, too fancy, too elfy. When Blackwall hears this, he takes it upon himself to write a story she can relate to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flight of The Griffin

There was something calming about creating something with your hands. When your focus was honed on the creation of the craft, when nothing else mattered but the movements of your hands and how they shaped your creation, there was a calm in the solitude of it all. At least, that’s how Blackwall thought of carpentry. When he wasn’t called to the ass-end of nowhere to help save the world from something or other, Blackwall could spend hours carving. He was blinded to all but the etching of feather details when a high pitched laugh rang out.  
“Oi, Beardy!” Sera cackled from up in the loft. “Is that why you grow all your hair out? To blend in with the animals?” She wrinkled her nose. “You’ve already got the smell down pat.”  
Blackwall started, luckily not harming the carving, before shaking his head good naturedly. “If I smell like the farm animals, maybe that’s why those bears keep finding us. Tell Cassandra that, might get her to invest in some hot water.”  
Sera smiled at that, jumping down from the loft to stand beside Blackwall. “Nah, never. She’d never admit it, but she enjoys fighting bears. She likes feeling scarier than they are.”   
The warden chuckled. “I’ll bet. She does seem to enjoy fighting them a bit too much.”  
“That look she gives? This one, right here?” Sera said, imitating Cassandra’s signature scowl, “It looks like she’s disgusted, yeah? But really she’s thinking how good it will feel to stick her sword up its arse! It’s therapunic for her or something.”  
Sera’s focus abruptly shifted to the half-finished griffin on the table. She leaned in extremely closely, scrunching up her nose as she focused on the tiny details. “Say Blackwall, this ain’t half bad. It’s one of those griffin things the wardens have all those legends about, innit?”  
He smiled at her, leaning against the table. “Yes, that’s right. The legends always fascinated me as a child. Hm, sometimes I would imagine that I somehow brought them back to life and tamed a whole flock for myself. Ah, the things we dream up as children.”  
Sera laughed after blowing a raspberry, hopping up to sit next to the sculpture. “Legends are worth ‘bout as much as coin to a nug. Sure, they’re pretty, but what use are they?”  
Trying his best not to be offended, Blackwall said “Come now, Sera, surely you had a favorite story growin’ up? Some heroic tale that made you want to go off and do great things?”  
The girl gave him a lopsided grin. “Not really? Ya see, all the stories I had growin’ up were about prissy nobles and how rich and successful they became by doing all their good stuff, which normally wound up bad for the little people. But no one cared about that, because the noble was happy. An’ besides that, they were all human. If someone like me was in them, I’d be a thief or somethin’. I mean, I am, but that’s not the point. If someone like me was in a good way, the story would sound too much like Solas, elven glory and all that.” She put her finger near her mouth and pretended to gag. “So no, no amazin’ stories bedazzled me grown’ up. But that’s that. Anyway, gotta run, I hear the cook made some fresh jam!”  
Sera leapt from the table and dashed off, leaving Blackwall confused, a bit shocked, and overall determined. “The girl’s never had a good story to enjoy? I’ll have to see if I can do something about that.” He carefully put his tools away and began walking towards Skyhold proper.

 

“My my, Blackwall, I must say I didn’t expect to see you around here. What brings you to my humble little library?” remarked Dorian, as he leafed through a history book from the Anderfels.  
Blackwall, a bit embarrassed, rubbed the back of his neck. He mumbled something.  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that.” Said Dorian.  
“I’m…” he cleared his throat. “Lookin’ for a book. Know of any with tales or legends in them?  
Dorian snapped his book shut, a smile appearing on his face. “Legends are always a splendid way to pass the time. Any particular type? Holy warriors? The Orlesian Game? I think we might even have an Elven legend or two buried here.”  
Dorian’s enthusiasm began to make Blackwall relax. “Nuthin’ fancy. In fact, I was wonderin’ if you knew of any stories of heroes of the common folk. You know, little people who did something great.”  
“Little people, ay?” Dorian raised an eyebrow. “I see you’ve been speaking to Sera.”  
“I…well, yes,” Blackwall mumbled. “Girl’s never had a proper story to grow up with. I wanted to see if I could find one that might make her happy.”  
“A noble goal indeed. Well, let’s see what we can find!”  
The two spent hours going through the shelves where the books may be found, and hours more going through where they probably wouldn’t be. There were legends aplenty, but to Blackwall, they never felt quite right. Sera’s description wasn’t too far off the mark. Humans fulfilled their duty without regards to the effects, the few elves were obsessed with their own heritage, and all of them were of some noble line. The few stories about commoners ended with them becoming nobles, and Blackwall felt that would be worse to Sera than them starting out as nobles.  
As Dorian shook his head and tossed the umpteenth book over his shoulder (this one earning a small grunt from below and a sly smile from Dorian) Blackwall sighed. “The same thing over and over again. Don’t these authors have any new ideas?”  
“Most of them write what sells. The tried-and-true method sells better than the new, especially if your buyers are mostly nobles anyway,” said Dorian. “It could be the perfect story for our young Sera doesn’t exist…” he snapped his fingers, “Yet!”  
“Yet?” The bearded man turned to the other. “Are you suggesting we hire a writer?”  
“Not quite,” the mage replied. “Writers are hard to come by, ones writing to write stories like this even less so. And though I’m sure the Inquisitor would grant us the commission fee, I doubt they could do so without Sera finding out. No, if we want this story, we would have to write it. That is, you would.”  
“Me?” Blackwall huffed. “Preposterous. I haven’t nearly the skill nor the education to write a legend. Why don’t you do it?”  
“It wasn’t my idea. Besides, you’re the one who knows Sera best. You’ve read the more legends than me, I’m sure. You’re perfect for the job.”  
Blackwall was silent for a moment. “…Are you sure about this?”  
“Absolutely. I’ll clear a space in the library for you, if you like. You can even take it on the road when we travel. I’m sure it will be a thing to behold.” Dorian, obviously excited now, went to his own corner of the library and made a space, moving furniture and books alike to the side until there was a suitable square of clear space.  
“I’ll call for a desk and some parchment to be moved here. In the meantime, think over how you want it to go along.”  
When everything was said and done, Blackwall had a comfortable little corner, with Dorian making sure it was private. The only thing left to do was put words on paper. Or so Blackwall thought. He sat down, dipped his quill, and hovered it over the parchment. It hovered. And hovered. And hovered. He didn’t even notice that the ink was largely a blot on the sheets now. Nothing came.  
Eventually, Blackwall returned the quill to the inkwell and put his head in his hands. “I shouldn’t have agreed to this…” He mumbled to himself. He thought that writing a story would be like carving. You take what’s in your mind, and you make it reality. Yet that was the issue. He had no idea, nothing in his mind to create like he normally did. All that was swimming in his head were the words of the other authors.


End file.
